Maine is starting to get cold again. Which is a good change of rhythm, given the pain that is sleeping at night. I let myself sleep a little to try to recover, but I can’t too much. Although today I do not have the most difficult land, I have another shelter that is reserved for Rangelley, and I was excited to enter the city. In addition, I didn’t want to bother Jill, one of the owners of Camp 43 too much when arriving extremely late.
When I left the camp, I found a Matc crew climbing to the other side to the Mountain hall. They were planning Helecoptering in Gear to rebuild the privilege in the shelter, from a private well to a molding. A rapid 101 private (and another relatively useless data that I learned from my walk (and yes, we are talking about poop again)), there are usually three types of private in the field. A private well is like a Portapotty, waste falls and sit there … which means it smells terrible. When the hole is filled, they move everything at the beginning to a new hole, mark the old hole and expect decades so that all that … things break down. EW. Private composting are the following and require air and maintenance to allow composting. Finally, the private molding, which are the most vanguard design, are what most trail clubs now believe. These private ones sit in ventilated structures and with the addition of wood and moisture chips, they allow the poop to decompose in compost with sweet smell. When moving the upper private part every year, it allows the lower part to decompose for approximately 2-5 years. The great advantage here is less likely to contaminate … everything. And they smell more beautiful!
I asked a path of trails if they knew that this section was brushstroke, and one said: «Yes, there is no maintenance. Do you want to join?» If someone can sponsor my movement + paid employment in the rural area of Maine … make it know. My plans after finishing are joining a local trail club! It is difficult to help with the most remote sections of the path, since someone who is still young/still needs to be where the jobs are.
I went down and then backed up the appropriate Moody Mountain (which much of Farout’s comments they pointed out made them moody), I met the backpackers who were in the other store the previous night. Apparently, they were grateful to have made some human noises when I arrived at the camp, since they worried that it was a large animal.
After the mountain was South Arm Road. I met Moose Liver here, who supports Idiot Runner during his trip through the AT. She gave me a mountain dew, which helped me to boost today’s great mountain, the old blue mountain. However, I still didn’t feel incredible … even with additional calories in my hand, but I still had to climb the hill. At the top, I met Waterboy, whom I had not seen since our unnoticing descents by Madison. He told a story similar to mine: Gale Force Winds, and even lost a post by the side of the mountain. We both transmit how tired we were and continue.
I returned to the fission and his gang of 8 while crossing the crest, and we talked a little about how our walks were going, since I really didn’t catch them while I stayed in Gorham. Most of the majority only transmitted pain in my feet … and although fission did not have exactly the same problems, it could relate to the difficulty with recovery. I wished his group well in his slack back to Andover, while moving towards Maine Route 17.
Call me crazy, but it is sad to see that the plants are already beginning to die so early in the season (August 1)
Waterboy and I took the rest of the day together, feasting with blueberries and chatting in a storm. We get along together, but it’s fun. Before, I was dropping hiking to the left and the right because it is faster. Now, I am the one who slow me for my own final objective. In addition, fatigue on my legs and feet. Even so, I had a great time talking with him, and he supported me through some of the toughest low, when my clown’s size shoes were hurt.
We both run out of water before dragging Bemis Mtn Road, and Bemis Stream. You can see these completely empty stream beds that, from other vlogs, are supposed to be good water sources. What a depressing one. I left Waterboy here while it collapsed, and we also found the return, a flip-flopper. But I turned on the high march and started working until the road junction on Route 17. In fact, I got up quite fast, thanks to good music, and I could take a coca cola from a refrigerator full of magic of trails!
These rocks used to have ordinary water on them. They are dry of bones.
Unfortunately, I lost the feed of hikers of Sir-Stops-A-Lot on Route 17, but it was good to find him again! He pointed out that this was the second time I missed a feed … and I could have a recod to see it most of the time without food. I soaked in the beautiful golden hour for a second, before finding Jill from camp 43. Actually, she is the only one who drives the fort at this time, Ken was out a bit.
We talked a little about how he found he owned a host for hikers, and how was the scene in Rangelley before. There was a shelter around, but it closed a little, and apparently had no basic services such as power. That sounds insufficient for the modern hiker. But, luckily, Ken and Jill filled the hole here for the hiking community. Luckily they did. This was a very necessary break … again.
When I arrived at the shelter, I shower and ate some leftover pizza that Muddy and Gator (whom I last saw in the barn) stayed out. They also planned the summit on August 20, but they are forging a little ahead. Gator’s uncle plans to walk through the 100 with Gator, to finish his own last section of AT, so they needed to get ahead and prepare to take a slow desert of 100 miles.
Thanks to them, I could eat before I went to bed myself. While navigating my social networks, I noticed something shocking. Wing-T, who was in my original tramilia all the way to the beginning … I had ended! I don’t know why, but this felt surreal. A recognition for the first time that … This trip has an end. And with that comes a question … what follows? I haven’t even started thinking about what life would be like later. And yet, someone from my original tramilia (who, if you forgot, I was originally because I was going faster than her), I had already finished.
Strange thoughts.
(Title lyrics by: Heroes, David Bowie)
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